Amalia Iglesias Serna — part 1
Last week I was feeling a bit blue. Maybe it was the humidity? Hard to know. Whatever the case I found myself in the Spanish language section of the Michigan State University library (4 East) randomly pulling books of poetry off the shelves and seeing if I could read anything. While I cannot speak Spanish (yet) I have, maybe at best, a kindergarten-level ability and can sound out many words if I go slow and no one is around to giggle. My goal was to find a book of poetry that had not been translated into English.
The first book I pulled down, at random, was Dados y Dudas, "Dice and Doubts," which seemed a good sign. It was by Amalia Iglesias Serna, who I had not heard of but was curious about. This is not a slur at the poet. I am grossly ignorant of most non-English speaking poets. Sure, I can identify on a map where Pablo Neruda hails from, but if I had to name five contemporary Latin or South American poets? Five Latin or South American women poets? Let us just say it would be highly embarrassing. Still, what one can do about one's own ignorance is learn and that was what I wanted to do.
The first thing I did one I got home was to see if anyone else had attempted to translated Dados y Dudas. For all I knew there was an excellent copy waiting for me to read and my labors would be for not. I found on the on-line journal Terra Incognita one her poems, Amanece en el tren, translated by Juan Manuel López and Marta López-Luaces. But that was it, as far as I could tell. One of the strengths of the Internet is that if you look in the right direction you can find almost anything it seems. Nonetheless, if you misspell a word or don't know which was to turn a whole lot can also pass you by.
At the website Amediavoz.com I did discover, however, that our poet was born in the Spanish city of Palencia in 1962 but at the age of eight moved to the Basque city of Bilbao where she later received a master's degree at the University of Deusto. Among her books she has written are Memorial de Amauta (1988), Mar en sombra (1989), Dados y dudas (1996) and her newest book, Antes de nada, después de todo (2003). She has been awarded numerous awards, including the highly esteemed Adonáis award in 1984 for "Un lugar para el fuego."
I like her work. It appears (from what I have read so far) hep in the sense of her exploration of the fragmented self in this modern age. In an article subtitled El poder de las palabras ("The power of words") Dionisia García desrcribes the poetry in Dados y dudas says of the poems that they are (again I must apologize for this rough translation, I know I do not have all the words right):
… un lenguaje contenido, sugerente, donde entre el azar y la duda se esconde la sombra, las preguntas sin respuesta … a pesar de la nebulosa, de la incapacidad para comprender … [Amalia] sigue violentando las palabras para hacerlas resonar, porque no es una “amauta” enloquecida, sino que posee la lucidez de quien ha tenido que plantarle cara al destino, no siempre benevolente.
… a contained language, suggestive, where between chance and doubt the hides shadows, questions without answers … in spite of this obscurity, its unwillingness to include/understand… [Amalia ] continues doing violence to the words to make them resonate, because the "amauta" is not driven crazy, but that she has the lucidity to stand up to experience her destiny, one that is not always benevolent.
I will be able to make a better assessment of her work as I go along. It is my goal to translate, slowly, all the poetry in this book. I am, I hope, open to all comments, criticisms, concerns and questions. If I make shamefaced errors with my translations, it is not out of pride or hubris but rather outrageous ignorance on my part.
Here is the first poem (page 11):
Cuando quise leer la caligrafia de las brasas,
las palabras sin certezas hacían un ruido de celofán
entre los dedos, ya entonces alguna brecha abierta,
arrugas que no supe interpretar. Las manos de un
alfarero loco modelaban mi sombra y el orfebre puso
a secar mi corazón encima de la empalizada.When I wanted to read the calligraphy of live coals,
without certainties the words made noise like cellophane
between the fingers, already then an opened gap,
wrinkles that I did not know how to interpret. The hands of
a crazy potter modeled my shadow and the goldsmith put
my heart to dry upon the fence.